


Captain

by sneetchstar



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Gap Filler, One Shot, Plothole Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-06 22:17:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10345707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: Post-Season 2 finale; Abbie tells Crane about her time in 1781.





	

Basic matters were tended. The wrecker was called for Abbie's Jeep; the insurance company fed a somewhat believable story about a deer sprinting across the street. They piled into Jenny's truck. Frank was dropped off with a promise from Jenny that she'd call Cynthia first thing in the morning and explain everything.

When they reach the cabin, Abbie opens the door as well.

“Oh,” Jenny says, starting to unbuckle her seatbelt. “I didn't realize we were going in.”

“ _I'm_ going in,” Abbie explains, gathering the items she pulled from her Jeep. “You can go home.”

Jenny raises an eyebrow, then glances at Crane as he heads for the door. “You're spending the night?”

“He shouldn't be alone. I'll crash on the couch.”

“Mmkay,” Jenny replies. “Call me tomorrow.”

“Yeah. I have to tell you all about Grace,” she says with a nod. “Jenny?”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you.” Abbie reaches into the truck and squeezes her sister's hand.

“Anytime, Sis. Love you,” Jenny says.

“Love you, too. Be careful. We still don't know what Headless has been up to for the past two months.”

“Hey, he flipped this thing once and didn't kill me or the truck,” Jenny says with a smile, fondly patting the dashboard.

“That doesn't mean we should give him another shot. Text me when you get home,” Abbie replies. She steps back and closes the door, then watches as her sister drives off into the night. She walks towards the cabin, ponders the pink flamingo under her arm a moment, then jabs it into the ground just in front of the porch. She walks up and into the cabin without knocking.

“Lieutenant?” Crane asks, surprised to see her. His coat and boots are off and he appears to be preparing a cup of tea.

“Didn't think you should be alone tonight,” Abbie says.

“I shall add more water to the kettle.” He turns back towards the stove.

“I would think you'd be looking for something a little stronger than tea,” she ventures, removing her coat. She walks to the small kitchen table and bends to take her boots off.

“I do not believe that would be wise,” he answers. “Did Miss Jenny leave?”

“I sent her home.” Abbie sits back in her chair. Crane opens his mouth to speak, but she holds up her hand. “Before you start going on about propriety and all that, I'm going to sleep on the couch.”

“I was going to say 'thank you'. I... do not wish to be alone any more than you wish me to be alone tonight,” he says, turning to take another mug from the cupboard.

She watches him prepare the tea, noting his precise, careful movements. Efficient. Not a spare movement, no extraneous flourishes. Like always, even if a trifle more tense.

He hands her a mug, gesturing for them to move to the couch in front of the fireplace.

“Are you warm enough? I can set a fire,” he offers.

“No, I'm good. I showed you the thermostat in here, right?” Her phone beeps, and she sees Jenny's text flash on her screen. She quickly answers it.

“Yes, that was my next stop. I have a slight chill.”

 _Might be shock_. “The tea will help,” Abbie says. She grabs the afghan slung over the back of the sofa. When Crane returns, she spreads it over both of them.

He hesitates for only a moment before settling into the couch cushions. Abbie only notices the pause because she knows him nearly as well as she knows herself. After her experience in the past, she is now certain of this fact.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she ventures after a few minutes of companionable silence. She knows he doesn't, but he would expect her to ask.

“Not tonight,” he answers.

Abbie slowly nods and takes a sip of her tea. Citrus green tea with a generous amount of honey. He knows her favorite.

They drink in silence for a while, listening to the cabin creak in the wind. Their unique bond allowed them to become comfortable with one another rather quickly, so there is no awkwardness in the quiet. There is no need to fill the air with mindless prattle. Even someone as loquacious as Ichabod Crane treasures silence at times.

Eventually, Crane drains his cup and sets it on the coffee table. “Why did you call me 'Captain' back there?” he asks, his eyes still straight ahead.

“Hmm?” Abbie asks, his voice slightly startling her.

“When we left the old town hall. You called me 'Captain'. You have never called me that before,” he clarifies.

“Oh. I… I’m not sure. When I was in the past—”

“What?”

“Oh, right, you probably don't know. That's what that weird shimmering thing was. Katrina sent herself back to the past, and I jumped through the portal after her. She wanted to kill you and save Henry. Jeremy. Whatever you want to call him. I was sent _back_ to the same moment she cast the spell.”

He blinks, still staring, as understanding dawns. “Katrina's last words to you make sense now...”

“The whole 'you sent us back here', yeah,” she says, setting her tea down. “Do you still have the leftover Chinese takeout? I just realized how hungry I am.”

He nods, then frowns as she stands to go to the kitchen. “That was a very dangerous move on your part, Lieutenant,” he calls after her, turning his head towards her.

“Well, to be honest, I really didn’t think about that when I jumped through after her.” She feels like she's repeating herself, having said much the same thing to Crane in 1781. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you,” he answers. “So I assume, in the past…?”

“Yes, I found you, but you didn't know me, and… well…” she trails off, not sure how to proceed. She places the paper container in the microwave and presses the button.

“Was I unkind to you? Please tell me I did not hurt you in any way!” He looks truly upset at the thought of any form of himself harming her.

She walks over and places her hand on his shoulder. “No, you weren’t unkind. In fact, you protected me from danger a few times. You simply thought I was a crazy lady for most of the day. Can’t say I blame you.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” he exhales. “How long were you there?”

“Only about a day, thankfully. The first thing I did was ask for you.” She pauses, debating for just a moment about telling him this detail. _Screw it. He should know._ “ _After_ I was thrown in jail because they thought I was a runaway slave.”

He looks stricken. “Oh, Miss Mills, I am so sorry… I cannot begin to express—”

“It’s not your fault, Crane. I should have expected it. I didn't have any paperwork or identification that would have made sense to them. But I wasn’t hurt, thank God.” She squeezes his shoulder, then releases it to go retrieve her food. “Your Colonel Sutton, however, is not on my list of favorite people though.”

“What did he do?” he asks, his eyes wide with worry.

Abbie softly smiles, remembering the satisfaction she felt at knocking the Colonel unconscious. She settles back into her seat, pulling her half of the afghan over her lap. “Do you want to hear it in order or what?”

He nods, settling back. “Yes, please. Forgive me; I shall try not to interrupt.”

“Right. So. I was thrown in jail. They took my things. ID, cell phone, everything. I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t have my gun. I told them I had information, but I’d only talk to you.”

“Wise move,” he nods.

“That’s what I _thought._ However, this was the You that existed in 1781. It was very... disconcerting. You were you, but... not. I knew you so well, but you did not know me at all. Not gonna lie: it stung a little,” she frowns at the piece of orange chicken on the end of her fork before popping it into her mouth.

“I am sorry,” he repeats.

She swallows her chicken. “Thanks, but you really don’t need to keep apologizing. I understand, and I know that _this_ you, _my_ Crane was not _that_ Crane. Not anymore, anyway.” She smiles at him.

He weakly returns her smile. He knows he's changed quite a bit since he woke up in this time, and he thinks it's for the better. “Thank you.”

“Anyway, I immediately addressed you as ‘Crane’, like I always do, and you got all offended because I was ‘too familiar’. You said I should address you as ‘Captain’.”

“Ah. So it was merely a holdover from your day spent in 1781,” he reasons.

“Kind of.” She half-shrugs. “It just felt… appropriate at the time, for some reason.”

“Hmm,” he responds, nodding thoughtfully. _It felt strange when she said it, yet... familiar? No, it couldn't be. Nothing has changed because she came back at precisely the right moment._

“You were different back then.” Her voice pulls him from his thoughts.

“Was I?”

“Yes. You were very… confident. In command. Very much a man in charge.” Seeing his confused expression, she continues. “This is not to say you’re not confident now, but you’ve adapted so much to modern times, like, you know you don’t have to be so formal about everything. And when you first arrived here, you were befuddled by so much that I sometimes forget that, back then, you were a man _ahead_ of your time.”

He nods. “Ah. Yes, well, necessity at the time dictated a call for swift and decisive action. We were at war. There were spies everywhere.”

“You thought I was a spy.”

“That does not surprise me.”

“You thought I was wasting your time.”

“That _also_ does not surprise me.” He watches her take another morsel of food, this time a carrot, and thinks he may be hungry after all. “What else happened?”

She swallows her bite. “Um, I got you in trouble with your C.O. because I pulled you away from battle. Your big showdown with Headless didn’t happen.”

“So then, how…? Oh, wait, you came back _here_ at the right time,” he recalls. “Time travel is very confusing. Not like those comical movies at all.”

“Nope,” she answers, her mouth full. She swallows. “Anyway. You did get me out of jail, even though you still didn’t trust me.” She goes on to tell him about their walk on the battlefield, how she finally told him she was from the future, and Sutton wanting him to take her to a slave encampment.

“You must have been terribly frightened,” he says, eyeing the takeout box, now sitting on the coffee table.

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I was angry, too. My 21st century sensibilities automatically went to 'Oh, _hell_ no'. Luckily, I convinced you to take me to Benjamin Franklin’s instead.” His eyebrow lifts in surprise. She grins and adds, “He loved me. Said I was brilliant.”

“I can imagine.” Certain she is done eating, he leans forward and picks up the box of Chinese food.

“He also said I was ‘the American Dream’.” Abbie's grin broadens and she haughtily lifts her chin.

Crane chuckles a little. “That does sound like him.” He takes a bite, angling his head at her. “How much ego-stroking did you do?”

“Quite a bit,” she laughingly admits. “Unfortunately, he wound up beheaded before we were able to go to Frederick’s Manor to see Grace. Katrina must have found Abraham and sent him to kill us.” She frowns now, sadly remembering how the first person to truly believe her in that time was so brutally killed. _Good thing we got to Control+Z that._

“Franklin, beheaded? This is all very conf—wait, you got to meet your ancestor? That is amazing! That is to what you were referring when you mentioned Grace and said our battle was just beginning, yes…”

“Yeah, it _was_ amazing,” she wistfully smiles, the memory of meeting her ancestor, the woman who has become a hero in Abbie's eyes, still fresh in her mind. “Oh, I forgot,” she lightly shakes her head, “I wound up back in jail again, and you got decommissioned because of Franklin’s murder. They thought it was us.”

“Oh, dear.”

“I was in the middle of picking the lock to my cell when Sutton showed up to, um, 'question' me. Or something. You had gone off to see Katrina,” she explains.

“You told me the truth then.” He finishes the food and places the container back on the table. Then, he walks to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water.

Abbie nods, impressed he pieced that together. “Against Franklin’s wishes. But something must have happened at home that made you come back, because by the time I saw you again, you completely believed I was telling the truth. And I had knocked Sutton on his ass before he could beat and probably rape me.”

Crane sits heavily on the couch, water bottle in hand, and flips the blanket back over himself. His face is clouded. “Yes, Colonel Sutton did rather have an… unpleasant reputation.”

“It was well deserved, I'd say. I was surprised when you came back all frantic and going, 'I'm here to rescue you', but Sutton was already flat on his face. It's kind of funny now, looking back,” she says, smiling.

“I am certain the Colonel concocted quite the story to explain his injuries. He was far too proud to admit he was felled by a woman, much less a woman of color, even less so a woman half his size,” Crane says.

“I'm sure he did,” Abbie agrees.

“For what it is worth, _I_ am proud of you, Miss Mills,” he says.

“Thank you,” she replies. She picks up her now-cold tea and takes a drink, emptying the cup. “Anyway, we used the tunnels to go to Frederick’s manor. I had told you earlier to check my cell phone for proof I was telling the truth, which is what finally convinced you. That’s what you were doing when I was beating up the Colonel.”

“Oh, do not tell me that blasted video about the waffles is still in your phone…” he sighs, his head falling back onto the couch.

“Yep. Good thing, too, because you were able to see and hear yourself in living, moving color.” She thinks a moment. “That must have been pretty disconcerting.”

“To be honest, it _still_ is a trifle startling,” he admits.

Abbie nods, understanding, remembering the first time she heard the sound of her own voice on a recording, how she thought _I don't really sound like that, do I?_ She reaches over and lifts the bottle of water out of Crane's hand, takes a sip, and hands it back to him before telling him the details of their conversation in the tunnels and the forest.

“You said something that surprised me,” she finishes. “I was telling you about Katrina and her turn, and you replied, 'The seeds must have been there all along.' Like you knew she was keeping things from you but weren't able or ready to admit it.” He is silent for a long moment, pressing his lips together, clearly not wishing to discuss Katrina right now. “We don't have to talk about it right now if you don't want to,” she says.

He exhales. “No, it's all right.”

“All I can figure is something happened when you went home that made you open to believing what I was telling you. We'll never know what that was, unfortunately,” she says.

“Perhaps it is for the best. I do not need another unpleasant memory of her to add to the collection,” he sighs.

She reaches for his hand again, and he automatically turns his and closes his fingers around hers. “Would you like to hear about Grace?”

“Did she know you?” he asks.

“I think she knew I was special,” Abbie says. “Or maybe I just want to remember it that way.”

“I am sure you are not imagining things, Lieutenant,” Crane replies with a small smile.

“It was so...”

“Amazing?” he supplies, drawing on the word they used earlier.

“Yeah. She was everything I imagined she would be. Proud. Kind. Wise. She knew exactly what needed to be done, and she got right to it,” she says.

“Must be a family trait,” he appraises, looking sideways at his partner.

She smiles. “I saw the journal. Got to touch it and use it, when it was new.”

“I'm so pleased you were able to bring back a happy memory with you,” he says.

“Me too,” she replies. She goes on to explain the details of their short visit, how Grace knew she was the Witness, how she hugged a very surprised Crane (he chuckled at that), and how Grace kept having to pull her back when she tried to go to his aid.

“Oh, and… after I hugged you, I asked you to call me ‘Lieutenant.’ I missed hearing it,” she admits.

He smiles, remembering that was how she identified the demon version of himself in purgatory. “I had not realized that it was… meaningful to you,” he softly says.

“You’re the only one who says it that way,” she says. “And you’re my partner, so it’s kind of special, I guess. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I didn’t hear it. And I wasn’t sure how things were going to go, so…”

“You wished me to say it once more before we parted company. I understand,” he replies.

She nods. “Thankfully, the spell reversal worked,” she concludes. “And you know the rest.”

He offers her the bottle of water. She takes it, drinks, and returns it to him. Then, she yawns. “It's been a long day,” she sighs. “If you think about it, I've had two very long days in the space of one.” Realizing how that could sound, she quietly adds, “Um, not to diminish the awful day _you've_ had, of course.”

He merely nods, saying nothing, but she knows he understands. She knows he will talk about it when he is ready, and she will be the first (and possibly only) person to whom he will confide.

She squeezes his hand, still clasped in his. “I’m glad to be back with the You I know. The You that knows me.”

“I am glad you made it back here unscathed,” he answers, returning the squeeze.

She looks up at him, noting his sad, tired countenance. “Captain Crane the decision-making military man was something to see though.”

“Is that so?”

“I kind of liked seeing you all ‘take-charge’. It’s a side of you I don’t see much, probably because I’m taking charge right beside you most of the time.”

“I would have it no other way,” he says.

“Right back at ya,” she replies. She sighs, yawns again, and sinks further into the couch. “It was an interesting experience, even if it's one I can only tell to three people,” she says. “I feel like I understand you a little better now, having seen you on your home turf,” she adds. “Original Recipe Ichabod Crane,” she giggles.

“Ichabod Crane Version 1.0?” he volunteers, his eyebrow arching again as he looks down at her.

The joke is funnier because it is coming from Crane. Abbie laughs harder than it probably deserves, and it is then she knows she is _very_ tired. “Good one, Crane,” she says, her laughter dissipating. “I will say I was very relieved when you finally believed me. Finally trusted me.”

“I know that feeling,” he responds with a nod. “Though I did not know you the way you knew me, I breathed easier when I knew you no longer thought me insane.”

“I kind of got the feeling you _wanted_ to trust me all along. It’s like when I first met you: there was something that drew me to you. It was against my better judgment, logic, and everything else, but…” She gently withdraws her hand from his and pulls the blanket up higher as she leans her head on a throw pillow beside the arm of the couch.

“Such is the strength of our bond, Abbie. It makes certain we find one another. No matter where – or when – we may be,” he says.

“I think you’re right,” she answers, her eyes heavier with each passing minute. “I missed it. The trust we have.”

“We must be mindful to maintain that trust. As we must tend to our bond, we must also not take each other for granted,” Crane says.

“Exactly,” Abbie agrees, pointing at him.

“But now, I think sleep is what we both need,” he says, noting the heaviness of his partner's eyelids.

“Mmm,” she agrees.


End file.
